


United

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Graphic Description, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Junkrat isn't so good at working on his own after getting used to Roadhog having his back. Luckily for him, Hog's not going anywhere.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based of an anonymous suggestion on my tumblr! Thank you anon!

Working on his own never went well anymore.

He’d gotten too used to the big guy at his back, the security of having Roadhog nearby having rapidly changed his own defense style. His offense style? Barely existent anymore. Hog was the offense part of their team, all roaring laughter and deadly swinging hook. If the enemy makes if past Junkrat’s traps and explosives, they’re just running right into scrap fire from Roadhog, the man decimating even the most experienced of bounty hunting gangs.

Cut off from Roadhog now, Junkrat’s mind ran a million miles a second, worrying over what he should do, how to get back to his bodyguard’s side, how many enemies lie between them and how best to circumvent them.

Once upon a once upon, it had always been him by himself, and he’d made it through just fine. He’d always had a sixth sense for explosives; where they were hiding and how best to use them. It wasn’t until he’d found his treasure that the heat on him had gotten bad enough for him to start thinking about having a second pair of arms helping keep him alive. Roadhog was perfect in that department; huge and intimidating and hearty. Junkrat was a little surprised by how tender the huge man could be in private, even after all the time they’d been together; it was a side of him that no one else ever got to see, just Junkrat.

He wasn’t scared of much, but he was jackrabbit flighty in these critical moments, when they got separated and he was lost on how best to reunite with his companion.

The problem was, after having been hired to escort this damn delivery, he’d gotten totally separated from bother the payload and Hog when the enemy had swooped in from seemingly nowhere, attacking from all sides. He was honestly a little worried about his pig-loving partner, who when last seen had been surrounded and swept up in the thick of battle.

With his tin ear, it’s hard to pinpoint the source of the gunfire he can hear, but he does he best, limping along quick as he can toward the sound of Hog’s scrap gun blasts. When someone fires at him, he actually yelps out loud, eyes darting around to track when the shot had come from before rolling into cover. Roadhog is so close, he can actually see him now, but too far away for the trapped Rat to call out for help, and so he does his best to steady his breathing and stay under cover.

A bullet ricocheting off his peg leg puts an end to that, him yelping and curling into a ball, wanting to call out for Hog but afraid to alert more enemies to his location or, worse, distract the larger man while he’s in a desperate fight himself. He holes up in the lee of a rock and prays silently to survive a while longer as bullets continue to rain down on him from some point above.

“Get _down_!” he hears in that gravelly baritone, punctuated by the rattle of chain as a hook goes sailing over his rock. He can hear it catch on something, then the scream of the bastard caught in its steel embrace, before he rolls cautiously out of his hiding hole, all at once excited rather than scared.

The dead are all around Roadhog, who stands splashed in their blood and viscera, right next to the truck waiting to haul the payload away to its final destination. Roadhog’s chain clatters as the man on the other end of it struggles, writhing in an attempt to free himself of the spiked hook. It won’t work, Rat knows. The man starts to scream, but the sound turns into something more like a yowl, all crawling agony as Roadhog jerks the chain toward himself, hauling the body toward him.

 Something that’s a bit more than excitement creeps up Jamie’s spine as he watches the larger man wrench on the chain, dragging the snipper down from the rocky outpost he’d been set up on. There’s a glorious, disgusting crunch when his body hits the rocky ground, and then he’s whipped through the air into Roadhog’s arms.

By the time Hog has a grip on him, Rat has hobbled over to the larger man, grinning and shivering. He knew two things right away, looking at the ruin of the gunman’s skull. The first was that they were going to make a lot of money with this job, because they were the only two guards of the payload left.

The second was that the gunman wasn’t going to be answering any of the questions he knew Roadhog was going to try asking. There was a hole wide enough to stick two or three finger in, a little bloody window right into the man’s brain. The whole shape of his head was wrong, like a melon that had been dropped just right; not hard enough to splatter but just enough to dent it. On top of that, his collar bone was broken, and his right arm was hanging wrong. The overall effect was fascinatingly grotesque.

“How many of you were there?” Hog snarled, hefting the stranger to his own eye level and growling straight into his face. “Are there more up ahead? How many?”

A sudden pungent odor heralded the release of the wounded man’s bladder, piss darkening the front of his trousers. He seized in Roadhog’s grip, shuddering and jerking like a fish hauled out of water. A thick, clear wetness was pouring from that hole in his head, mixing with the blood and flowing right over Hog’s massive hand.

“Gak,” he said. “Kaahg.”

“I think that moight be a dead end, Hoggy-me-hog,” Rat said, grinning up at his partner and wanting nothing more than to jump into his arms and feel those bloody hands close on his waist. Alas, they had business to attend to. He giggled when Hog broke the dying man’s neck and tossed him aside, before turning and thumping his metal hand on the truck’s door, signaling to the driver that it was time to move on.

Scurrying to keep up with Hog’s stride, he allowed a hand up to assist him in climbing up onto the payload, content to ride and keep watch with his partner.

“That was a good job,” Hog muttered after they’d been riding for some time, and Rat felt himself grin in spite of himself, pleased by the praise.

He looked up at Roadhog, eyes wide and bright. “Woulda been dead without you. Holy dooley, thought he really had me there fer a sec!”

Snorting, Hog lifted a hand and ruffled Rat’s hair, a rare gesture of open affection.

“Not on my watch.”


End file.
